Tension
by mossley
Summary: Things get a little tense at a crime scene. Answer to this week’s Improv Challenge. The first and last lines are provided. The story is supposed to be under 1000 words, but I didn’t make it. Sue me. Thanks to Ann and Burked for betaing, and to Marlou


**Tension  
****Summary:** Things get a little tense at a crime scene.  
**A/N:** Answer to this week's Improv Challenge. The first and last lines are provided. The story is supposed to be under 1000 words, but I didn't make it. Sue me. Thanks to Ann and Burked for beta-ing, and to Marlou for help coming up with a story idea.  
**Rating:** PG. Why not?  
**Disclaimer:** Despite rumors to the contrary, I'm not dead yet.

* * *

"You do know what that means, don't you?" 

At the threatening tone, Sara paused in her collection of fibers, the tweezers in her hand hovering in the air. Lifting her eyes to Grissom, she stared at him questioningly. They'd been alone in a rundown warehouse, looking for trace evidence on the body of a man apparently killed several days earlier.

Their conversation had started out as purely professional, but Grissom had tried venturing into her well-being, clumsily asking about her drinking incident and if everything was okay. She'd refused to look at him then, but her curt answer had effectively ended that line of discussion.

Only one problem remained - Grissom hadn't been the one who had spoken.

Now his eyes reflected the same concern as hers. The officer securing their scene was on the opposite side of the cavernous building. Large crates and equipment littered the interior of the warehouse, providing numerous hiding spots. Considering the body had been dead for some time, how thoroughly did the officer inspect the building before saying it was clear?

Slowly, they turned their heads to the direction the voice had come from. Spotlights illuminated the area around the body, but they couldn't pierce the shadows, giving no clue as to who was talking to them.

"This is an active crime scene," Grissom called out. He kept his tone soft, trying not to startle their unknown visitor, but hopefully loud enough to attract the attention of their guard. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave."

His voice echoed in the darkness. Both of them strained to detect any motion, any sound in the warehouse.

"Not until you pay for what you did."

Sara snapped her head to her left, spotting the man as he slowly shuffled from behind an equipment bin. Her mind quickly assembled the facts. The stranger had a gun, and it was weaving around unsteadily, but it was pointed in the general direction of Grissom.

He didn't have his gun.

He didn't have his vest.

Grissom was a perfect target.

The target watched in horror as Sara stood up, holding her hands away from her body. A cold sweat began pouring down Grissom's back as he saw the stranger point a gun shakily towards her.

Sara was going to get shot, and there was nothing he could do.

"Hey," she called out in a friendly manner, walking in a wide arc away from Grissom. "What's up?"

"You have to pay. An eye for an eye."

Her heart beat wildly as she watched the gun tracking her motions. Despite her best efforts, Sara's mind insisted on calculating how little of her body the vest protected. Still, she was less vulnerable than Grissom. Not that he appeared to appreciate her effort.

"Sara," he hissed angrily, freezing when the gun swung back towards his head. What the hell was she doing? Didn't she realize she was putting herself in danger?

"Stay still. Both of you," the gunman yelled, stepping forward as he re-aimed at her.

As he moved into the light, Sara examined him. His eyes were wild, but it seemed more from fright than insanity. He was filthy, covered in dirt, grease and cobwebs, as if he'd been hiding. Under the layer of grime, he wore a set of striped coveralls that matched the ones worn by their DB. It was impossible to tell if he bore a resemblance to their victim, who was missing most of his head, but the gunman was only a teenager.

"You shouldn't have killed him. He was going to pay you the money he owed," the armed man said, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Hey," she repeated softly, dropping her hands to her side. "I'm Sara. We're here to help. Is that your dad?"

Grissom swore under his breath as the gun once again trained on Sara. Their assailant was having trouble holding the weapon steady, but it was aimed in the general direction of her head. There was no way he could charge the man before he could get a shot off; at this range, the odds of Sara getting hit were too high.

The gunman didn't answer immediately. Frowning, he stared at Sara before turning his attention to Grissom, then eventually to the body on the floor. "My uncle. Buck. You didn't have to kill him."

"We didn't," Sara said gently as she glided between Grissom and the erratically waving gun. One hand inched towards her own weapon. "Did you see your uncle's murder?"

The teen cocked his head in confusion. After several long moments, he nodded his head and started to move the pistol away from Sara.

"Las Vegas Police! You're surrounded. Drop the gun!"

He spun around in confusion, searching for the source of the new voice as a powerful beam of light blinded him. One arm moved to cover his face, but the teen held onto his gun.

"Don't shoot! He's in shock," Sara called out as she drew her own weapon, praying she wouldn't have to use it. The boy was confused, but he was still dangerous. The gun was held out to his side – towards her. At this range, she didn't know if her own vest would provide enough protection, assuming that the bullet didn't hit her head or neck. "We're trying to help. We didn't kill your uncle. Drop the gun. Please."

Grissom used the distraction to get up and station himself beside Sara. If necessary, he could pull Sara away, attempt to shield her with his own body. It wasn't much of a plan, but he had to do something; he couldn't let her get shot without making some attempt to help.

Sara didn't breathe as the teen finally turned to face her, slowly lowering the gun before dropping it. As officers rushed forward to restrain him, she shakily holstered her own weapon, not resisting when a hand grabbed her arm and forcefully dragged her out of the building. In the back of her mind, she noted the extra vehicles approvingly; their guard had called for back-up.

"Get her checked out," Brass said, pushing her into the ambulance. When Sara started to protest, he nodded his head to the side.

Looking up, she saw Grissom storming up behind them. Even from this distance, she could tell he was furious.

"Stay here," Brass directed.

Grissom marched towards the ambulance. His earlier concern hadn't dissipated; he was too emotionally charged for it to just go away. Instead, it morphed into anger. Anger that Sara had almost made him watch her die. When Brass stopped him, he unleashed some of his fury on the police captain.

Sara endured the paramedics as they took her vitals, speaking only when they asked her a question. As she sat there, she watched the exchange between Brass and Grissom, occasionally hearing phrases like "service weapon" and "body armor". Eventually, Grissom pointed at her.

"You're off for the rest of shift!" he yelled before heading back into the warehouse.

Waiting until the paramedics were done, Brass quickly asked for her statement, professionally jotting down notes as she recreated the incident. Once done, he surprised her with a smile and a pat on the back.

"Doll, I wanna live long enough to enjoy my retirement. Stop scaring me."

Sara resisted the eye roll until she was in the Denali. On the drive back to the lab to get her own car, her fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel as her anger rose. Why was she being sent home? She hadn't done anything wrong. If anyone could be faulted, it was Grissom. He was the one who hadn't been armed or wearing his vest.

By the time she reached her apartment, Sara's anger had grown to the point of frustration. Tossing her bag to the couch, she stalked around the tiny apartment before deciding on a shower.

Under the relaxing hot water, she began to reign in her temper, only to have it replaced with sadness. Was tonight really that surprising? In all honesty, how did she expect Grissom to react?

Letting out a long sigh, Sara quickly dried off and donned a pair of sweats. Moving into her kitchen, she found nothing interesting in the meager offerings in her fridge. As she debated whether to call for carryout, she scanned the small rooms that made up her home.

This was all she had to show for her life.

With a growl, Sara pushed those thoughts aside. To hell with self-pity. Life may not have turned out as she hoped, but she was better off than most people. It wasn't like she hadn't tried. She had; the problem was Grissom hadn't. He may be afraid to move forward, but she wasn't going to let him hold her back any longer.

When the knock came at her door, she didn't hesitate to open it, crossing her arms defiantly as Grissom stood in the hallway.

"What?"

He drew his head back at the force of her question, but recovered with a contrite smile. He'd been wrong to send her away earlier. It was natural for her to be upset with him. "Let's go inside."

"No."

"Sara," he urged, looking around the hallway uncomfortably.

"Your mistake. This is my home. You can't order me around here."

"I'm not trying to order you around," he said with a sigh. "I want to talk about tonight."

"I don't. You sent me home. You can lecture me on company time."

"I don't want to lecture you!"

"Well, I don't feel like being yelled at, either," she said levelly.

"I'm not yelling."

"The hell you weren't. Look, you're pissed I tried to save your life. I get it."

"I'm not pissed …" he began, pausing as he calmed himself. "You could have gotten yourself killed. Do you have any idea what that would have meant?"

"Yeah. You couldn't avoid Atwater any longer, you'd have a ton of paperwork…"

"Goddamn it! How can you think that?"

Sara blinked at the undisguised emotion in his voice and expression. This wasn't anger. It went deeper, was more primal. Coming from Grissom, it was especially moving. Still, she moved cautiously.

"Have you ever given me a reason to think anything else?"

Grissom didn't answer immediately. Instead, he moved a hand to caress her cheek as a deep sadness settled in his eyes. Sara felt a tremor rack her body as he leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

"I know. Is it too late? To give you those reasons?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly, drawing back from him slowly. "I'm tired of being hurt."

"Can we talk?" Grissom asked softly. "I can't take back what's happened. I can't promise what will happen. But I want us to try."

Sara dropped her head, looking to the side before slowly beginning to nod.

"We can try," she answered, leading him into her apartment. The door closed with a soft click.

**The End**


End file.
